


The Perks of Being a Wallflowey

by End_Transmission



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angry flower monster, Claustrophobia, Frisk POV, Gen, Genocide/No Mercy Spoilers, Insults aimed at reader, Insults galore, Maybe a one-shot, One-Sided Platonic Frisk/Flowey, Other characters only briefly mentioned, Pacifist Spoilers, Panic Attacks, Reader Is Frisk, Undertale Spoilers, maybe not?, mild depictions of violence, reader POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-05 14:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5378417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/End_Transmission/pseuds/End_Transmission
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frisk is going to bring Flowey to the surface, even if it kills them. </p><p>Or rather, no matter how many times it does kill them.</p><p>Alternatively: Adventures in taming an angry flower monster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Asriel

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> So here's another story from me. Please see the ending notes for important information regarding this specific story and potential continuations.

The first time you go to Flowey with a pot of dirt and an idea, you spend nearly an hour dodging a continuous array of pellets. All the while he is sneering at you, his face twisted into an all-too-familiar demonic grimace. After a while, your muscles start to seize up and your moves become too sluggish to continue. You don’t even get close enough to touch a single petal. As you leave the underground tired and more than a little bruised, his echoing laughter follows you.

“You Idiot! Did you really think I would _ever_ go with you? Don’t come back!” 

* * *

After a hefty helping of Butterscotch-Cinnamon pie and a full night’s rest, you go back to the underground. You make the long journey to the ruins, alone except for the pot of dirt and a determined air. Flowey spins around so quickly that he thinks you didn’t see the way he was hunched in the middle of the flowerbed, but you had. At the sight of you, his mouth and eyes twist and grimace. It’s a sneer you have seen many times, but there is a hint of hatred in it now. 

“What are you doing here, Frisk?” He practically spits, “I never thought I’d meet anyone more idiotic than that skeleton, but I guess I underestimated you! Didn’t you learn anything the last time? Bug off!” You don’t respond to his taunts. Instead, you move closer to him. You are surprised when he lets you. You reach as though to touch a petal, but then reconsider the action. Instead, you reach towards the dirt near the base of his stem, poised to begin digging. 

This time, you soul nearly cracks under the sudden onslaught of pellets. You only barely dodge in time, and you whisper a reminder in your head to save the next time you try this. Flowey cackles as you hurry away, ridiculing you for your fear. It’s not fear that drives you, though. But being at one HP hurts, and you both know that if you die, you will have to reload. You’re all at once very aware that you haven’t created a save since before you all went to the surface. If you were forced to reload now, you’re not sure you would be able to live with yourself. 

“That’s right!” you hear his sneer behind you, “best to give up now.” 

You wait a day to go back, this time. Instead of trekking through the underground, you spend your ‘day off’ riding along with a certain cool skeleton in his very cool car. Watching Papyrus run his skeletal fingers along his skull, as though pushing back nonexistent hair, makes you giggle. Your giggle sets off a chorus of ‘NYEH HEH HEH’ from your friend, and before you know it you’re both locked in a cycle of unstoppable laughter. It is so easy to please Papyrus, you only wish the same could be said of all of your friends. 

* * *

When you go back the next day, Flowey seems genuinely surprised to see you. It is a quick reaction, soon replaced by a twisting of his face and a pinning back of his petals. You make a mental note not to annoy him by telling him how much he looks like a cat in that pose. It’s a hard promise to keep to yourself. 

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” he tells you, “what, did you feel too guilty giving up on your old friend Flowey?” 

“I didn’t give up,” you tell him in your own soft voice, “I was just giving you time to cooldown from your tantrum.” 

“Tantrum!” he exclaims, a burst of pellets escaping him at the thought, “this isn’t a tantrum, you stupid human! It’s a very clear warning to leave me be!” He fires the pellets in emphasis and you try not to wince as you feel them slam into your soul. You don’t try to dodge them this time, although you do rub your chest lightly. Although the damage isn’t physical, you still always feel a twinge of pain in your chest when your soul is attacked. When you look at Flowey again, his twisted grimace is gone. Instead, he’s wearing a self-satisfied, all-knowing smirk. 

“You think me like any of those other monsters? What, you think if you just stand there and take it, maybe I’ll feel too badly to attack? That I’ll give in? Golly, _you must be so confused.”_ He cackles at you, slowly wiggling back and forth on his stem. _“What kind of idiot do you take me for? If you keep coming here, I’ll start being **real** serious about killing you. And I’ll do it again and again and again and I’ll enjoy **every minute of it!** ”_ He’s hissing his warnings now, his swaying becoming more pronounced. Another barrage of pellets builds up around him and you brace yourself, knowing it will only get worse long before it gets better. You’re thankful for the SAVE you made that morning. 

You do try and dodge as much of the barrage as you can, but this time Flowey doesn’t stop to grant you a turn. You find yourself once again at one HP, kneeling on the ground in front of the demonic flower and breathing as though each gasp is your last line of defense. The barrage stops, and you look at him in baited curiosity. 

“You know…maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad…” this is whispered. 

You think you can see a touch of Asriel’s features in the face on the flower now, and despite yourself hope wells up inside of you. Flowey seems to extend his petals towards you in a parody of the start of a human handshake. 

“Going with you, I mean. I suppose, for you, I could try and get along with the others…maybe even give being nice another try…” 

You try to quell the hope, not quite believing, but the feeling is rather determined. You’re so focused on Flowey that you don’t notice the stray pellet at your back until its passing through the sudden crack in your soul. As you fade to a reload, you hear Flowey cackle again. 

“If you believed a word of that, you really are an Idiot!” 

You quietly mutter a curse when you find yourself laying in your bed again, and then spend a few minutes in quiet fear that somehow, somewhere, Toriel had heard you. When no sudden scolding appears, you gather yourself and leave your bed to face the day…for a second time. 

* * *

This time, you don’t use your reload to approach Flowey again. Instead, you spend the day at the beach, as your friends had originally asked you to. You have fun, although you can’t help but keep a close eye on Sans throughout the day. There are no glares sent your way, and he seems to be enjoying himself as much as the rest of your friends. Although there is a touch of suspicion in his eyes when he notices you watching him, he never says anything nor comes to you with a touch of anger. You chalk the reload up to a tentative success and vow to yourself to be even more careful with your golden friend. 

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that much,” this time he greets you sitting high on his stem, swaying back and forth with teeth bared in amusement, “if it wasn’t for the fact that you usually manage to run before I can actually kill you, I’d call you a glutton for punishment. Or maybe it’s the verbal abuse that gets you off? Is that why you’re really here?” 

You don’t grace this with any answer. Instead, you inch closer, braced to dodge if the need arises. His amusement falls a bit, replaced instead with annoyed snort. 

“Far be it for me to keep you unsatisfied then. You’re rather annoying, you know? Pretty stupid too. Tell me, are all humans as stupid as you, or are you an exception? I guess it doesn’t surprise me a ton, though. Look at the company you keep! Idiotic skeletons, scientists that can’t even do their jobs…not to mention _boss monsters who can’t even keep their own children alive!”_

You pause to look at him, noting that his visage almost looks pained. He’s even panting a bit, as though the outburst has tired him. Seeing your look seems to fill him with something, because all at once he’s back on track. 

“You must be especially stupid to keep trying this, you know. Do you even know what would happen if you brought me to the surface? Do you really think a _pot_ is going to keep me contained? The first time you go to sleep, I’ll break free and kill everyone! You, everyone you love, all the strangers in the world! They’ll all know real pain, real suffering, and I’ll finally be the God you keep ripping me away from! Is that what you wan-” he suddenly cuts himself off, and you’re surprised to see him looking at you with wide eyes. His next words are hardly whispers, and they come from a mouth almost more boss monster than flower. 

“Is that what you want? Are you…Chara, is that you?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s brightening, all at once animated, “is that what this is all about? Chara, you came back for me, yeah? To finish what we started! This has all just been a big ruse, to make all those fools happy…to make our job that much easier. Golly, you really should have just said so to begin with, I never would have doubted _you_ , Chara!” 

Your heart pulses in your chest in a sudden burst of sorrow and sympathy. For a moment you don’t answer. You feel bad letting him sit on his hopes like that, but the words you have to say come so sluggishly, as though you have to physically drag them up your throat. “Sorry, Flowey,” you tell him with a whisper of your own, “it’s still just me, Frisk.” 

For a second he just stares at you, mouth slightly parted in an odd mix of confusion and rage. The attack is so sudden and brutal that you can’t even begin to dodge it. This time, you just sigh lightly into your pillow when you realize you’ve lost yet another day. 

* * *

You drum soft fingers against the kitchen counter, reclining your head on a hand as you stare at the butterscotch-cinnamon pie. You’re wondering if it will help at all. After all, it had been very useful when you had been forced to fight Asgore. And, like his father, you know Asriel had always enjoyed his mother’s baking. You wonder if it would spark anything in Flowey, maybe weaken his resolve just enough to finally get him to agree to come with you. After a few minutes of pondering, you hop off of the stool with a shake of your head. No, likely the pie would call forth another frothing pile of vitriol. It might even make matters worse. Reluctantly you leave it, making a note to eat a huge piece of it when you get home. 

The petals that sit lowest on his face are drooping a bit when you see him again. For a moment he looks as if he is trying to pull himself together, but then droops back down in a gesture of giving up. He does manage to fix a rather formidable glare on his face, however, and it is directly aimed at you. 

“This is really cruel of you, you know that? I don’t know what you’re getting out of this, but I do know exactly what you’re doing to me. I’ve figured it all out, see? You just want to see me suffer. You want me to have to sit there and watch, day in and day out, as you and your friends have fun, and bond, and enjoy each other’s company. All the while I’ll be sitting there, knowing that even if I wanted to join in, I couldn’t. Because even if I could act the part, I could never actually feel any of those oh-so-wonderful feelings you guys do. I can’t believe that _I_ have been such an idiot. I should have seen this for what it was since the beginning, a revenge plot! How. Very. Clever.” 

You watch him quietly for a few seconds before curling your legs beneath you and sitting in the dirt with him. He narrows his eyes at you, clearly suspicious of some new plot. Your heart twinges. 

“You don’t have to stay with me,” you tell him. You can see the surprise in his face. In fact, it’s far from subtle considering the way his entire flower pulls quickly away from you, eyes wide. 

_“What?”_ he asks, the sound coming out as a partial hiss. 

“You don’t have to stay with me. If you want to go somewhere else, I’ll take you. There’s a lot of world up there, you know,” you can see he’s only growing more suspicious. 

There is a period of silence. For once in your life, you want to say something. But you know that if you speak first, you’ll lose whatever chance you might have had. 

“Why?” he finally asks, lifting up on his stem in defensive anger, “I’ve asked you before, and I’ll ask you again. Frisk, why are you _being so nice to me?_ ” 

You take a breath. You knew he would ask this, eventually. You had prepared for it. 

“Because you’re my friend, Flowey.” 

You don’t really expect the sudden burst of cackling that escapes the flower. He seems truly tickled by your answer, going so far as to pull his petals in and lean forward as if he can’t contain the laughter bubbling away from him. When he finally meets your eyes again, his all-knowing smirk is back, just the hint of a fang at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh you really had me going there for a minute, Frisk! But it turns out, you’re just as stupid as I thought. I’m not your friend! Just because you met Asriel doesn’t mean that there is some secret to bringing him back! His little voice isn’t whispering inside of my head, he’s not sitting inside me waiting for just the right amount of _friendship_ or _love_ to rescue him. We are the same person, an all-in-one deal…and I’m never going to have a soul again! There is no more Asriel. There is only me, Flowey! So if that was why you’ve been bugging me, there, you have your answer. You can finally leave and _not come back_.” He says, once again swaying as if he can hardly control his glee. 

The startled look he gives you makes it clear he wasn’t expecting your small smile in return. 

“I wasn’t talking to Asriel.” 

You can’t say the sudden jolting of the death of your soul is unexpected. 

The softened “You idiot,” as you fade however, is. 

* * *

Once again you return to the underground. This time, however, you don’t have to go very far. Flowey is sitting in the middle of the throne room, watching the doorway expectantly. Taken aback, you pause there, staring at him in turn. He sneers at you, then looks away slightly, his brows furrowed and his petals standing defensively around his face. No words are exchanged between you. 

After a minute you move closer to him, ever aware of the possibility of a sudden barrage of bullets. When they don’t appear, however, you become a little more adventurous. This time, you allow one hand to simply brush one of his petals as you reach for the dirt below him. You are careful in your work, gentle as you press your hands deep into the dirt. It isn’t until you can feel the tips of his roots tickling your hands ever so slightly that you pull up. Your every move is cautious, ready to stop at the slightest noise of discomfort from the flower monster. When none comes, you manage to free him from the ground. 

You transplant him just as carefully to the pot, happy to see it was a good size choice. He wiggles just slightly, and you know he is allowing his roots to go deeper into the soil. Plans dance in your head, ideas of all the places you could plant him, if he wanted. Places where his roots could grow free, knowing that they could grow almost indefinitely. That, though, will be up to him. And now is not the time to ask. 

You assume he is settled once he stops moving and looks at you expectantly. You grasp the pot carefully, nestling it into the crook of your arm. Once you’re sure he is steadily held, you turn and walk back the way you came. The rising sun casts an echo of sunshine on you both as you finally take the last remaining monster to the freedom of the overworld.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I want to know what you guys think! Did you like it? If not, please be creative in your criticism. 
> 
> I'd also like to know if you guys would want to see this story continued, or if you think it fits better as a one-shot? Without spoiling anything, know that if I continue it, it will not be happy to start with. But I do have some plans for potentially going on! 
> 
> But, if you all seem to prefer it as a one-shot, then a one-shot it shall stay. Please let me know what you think either in comments on here, or at my tumblr at pyroweasel.tumblr.com.


	2. Flowey: Certified Little Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA: The chapter in which Flowey almost makes you regret your choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Thanks for the support. I don't usually go through and reply to every comment, but I do see them, and read them, and obsess over them. So thank you very much! I decided pretty much immediately to continue the story. It only took me some time to map out where it would go, so that I would have a clear end in mind. Now that I do, I'm moving forward.
> 
> A couple of notes: 
> 
> 1.) Although there aren't going to be a ton of chapters, my goal is to make this a sort of slow-burn changing Flowey story. In other words, he's probably going to be a pretty big shit for awhile.
> 
> 2.) A couple of people mentioned Sans and his reactions to things (understandably, since I mentioned him in last chapter.) He is not going to play a very big role in this story, simply because I want the focus to be on Flowey and Frisk. That being said, I am strongly considering creating a sort of companion piece for drabbles, which would include things like Frisk and Sans talking about all of this. I will also try and insert certain information into chapters as it fits. However, taking actual time out of chapters to go into long discussions between the two would take away from the story. Let me know, though, if you'd be interested in that companion piece. You might want to keep your judgement until the end of this chapter, though, to see how I write Sans. 
> 
> 3.) On that note...Sans and Papyrus are the two characters I am most concerned about writing. I'd love some feedback on that. 
> 
> There will be some more notes at the end of the story, but for now, let's continue.

For the first night, you settle your new Floweypot on the dresser of your room. He was oddly quiet on the walk back from the underground, and remains so even as you settle in for the night. You wonder what’s going on inside his head, but you cannot even begin to guess. You can’t quite relax as you go to sleep that night. You're too worried that you've somehow done something wrong, despite your determination to bring your final friend to the surface world. The buildup of fear helps you form a save. You only hope you never need to use it.

Truth be told, you’re not entirely surprised to hear crying in the morning. Nor are you surprised to see Flowey gone, although you try not to think too much about how he managed that little trick. Honestly, the crying is a relief. There’s only one other person in the house, besides you (and now Flowey), and if she’s crying she isn’t dead. You chalk that up to a tentative win.

The kitchen is a sad-and infuriating-sight to see. Toriel is sitting at the table, her head laid in her large hands and shoulders shaking with her sobs. Flowey, meanwhile, is risen up and hovering over her, his face twisted into a monstrous sneer. You arrive in time to hear some of his tirade.

“That’s right! That’s how pathetic you are! Not only did both of your children die, but your only son came back as a soulless husk. My every day is nothing but a torturous, hateful existence. And it’s _all your fault_.” The last line is said with a musical lilt, as if the flower monster finds amusement in the idea. You barge in as Toriel’s cries intensify.

“Flowey!” you scold, going over and snatching the pot from the table. The sudden movement jerks the flower, surprising him into dropping his demonic façade. You glare at him as he hisses back at you. No one is happy about this.

“You told her?” you question him, the intensifying glare on your face a clear indicator of your thoughts on that issue. His hiss morphs into a self-satisfied sneer as he rotates in his pot, giving you a quick wink.

“What’s the matter, Frisk? You don’t think this loving, doting mother should know the fate of her own son? After all she loved him so very much, it’s only a kindness to make sure she knows he’s still alive,” his face morphed again, fangs emphasizing his words, “ _and it’s only fair that she knows what my life is like. It’s not my fault she can’t handle the truth!_ ”

In the end you set him down on the kitchen counter with a sigh, deciding not to respond to his taunting. You should have suspected this. Really, you did. Or at least, you suspected that this process wouldn’t be all that simple. Asriel hadn’t wanted his parents to know. Flowey had also, by his own admission, given up on telling his parents many timelines ago. The difference was that Flowey was mercuric in personality and desires. This timeline had changed so drastically, it made sense that he was ready to play with it some more.

You think about reloading. It would certainly ease Toriel’s pain and give you a chance to stop Flowey before he told her. There’s dread in your heart, however, that Flowey will do something even worse than this. Something that will result in a drastic need to reload. And you don’t want to do it any more often than you have to. The number of times you’d had to before you convinced Flowey to come with you was already higher than you’d like. So you decide to do what you can to fix this in other ways and save your reloads for when things really hit the fan.

“Mom?” you ask Toriel softly, laying a hand on her shoulder. She jumps a little and lifts her head and, when she sees you, wipes quickly at her eyes.

“Oh, child. I did not hear you come in. I am sorry, I am afraid I was simply…lost in memories,” she says with a shaky smile. She reaches out a paw to lightly stroke your cheek, an all-too-familiar gesture. The obvious pain in her voice fills you with sadness.

“I heard what Flowey was saying. He’s…very mean. I’m sorry, mom,” you tell her. You know she didn’t realize you had heard and, when she does, she grimaces lightly and her smile falls. You can see the question she wants to ask before she does, and you shake your head slightly. “It’s true, what he told you,” you answer.

When she covers her face with a paw again, you feel your heart lurch. For good measure, you send Flowey another of your fiercest glares. You almost snarl at him when he only smirks in response.

“Toriel…mom, what he was saying about it being your fault. That part _wasn’t_ true. What happened to Ch-Chara,” you will always stumble over that name, “and Asriel…well. It’s kind of a long story that, if you want, I can tell you later. But just know that it was all one big plan that just didn’t go quite right. It had nothing to do with you. And, I also know that both of them…they loved you so very much. Just like I do. So please don’t blame yourself, no matter what Flowey says. He’s very good at getting under people’s skin,” you let out a little breath of air as you finish, not used to speaking so much. But it’s worth it for the way that Toriel’s shoulders seem to lighten just a bit. When she puts one large paw on the top of your head there are still tears in her eyes, but she does look a bit relieved.

“Thank you, my child. I should like to hear the whole story, sometime. For now…I am sorry you had to see me this way,” she tells you. In response you hug her tightly, as much as your smaller arms can.

“Don’t be sorry, mom. We all need a little comfort sometimes,” you tell her.

* * *

You and Flowey have a big argument after that. It’s nothing really out of the ordinary. He calls you a few iterations of ‘idiot’ and ‘stupid,’ and you beg him to please behave. You even threaten to take him back down to the underground, at which point he tells you to “go ahead and do it, I told you to start with that this was all just a really dumb idea!” and the argument ends with you storming out of your room in a rage you rarely experience. In the end, though, you don’t take him back. Because no matter how angry you get at him, you’re not ready to give up on him yet.

The real test comes later that night. The humming Toriel releases as she bakes makes it seem like the morning had never happened. Every now and then, though, when she thinks you aren’t watching, you notice her slow in her movements and gaze out the window. You know the words Flowey spoke to her have scarred her a bit, and it takes all of your determination not to give in to the temptation to reload.

Toriel has invited your friends over for the night. This isn’t an unusual occurrence. In fact, she usually invites them over most nights of the week. And, usually, at least two of them show up. The most common visitors are, unsurprisingly, the skelebros. That being said, Undyne and Alphys (occasionally with a robot tag-a-long) come over often enough as well. Neither you nor Toriel are ever quite sure who will actually show up on any given night. You can take a pretty good guess tonight, however. Sans will no doubt want to speak with you, and he wouldn’t dare to come over without Papyrus in tow. You know the meeting will have to happen eventually, but the idea of both the brothers and Flowey in one spot fills you with tension.

“So, do you think that smiley trash bag is going to throw you against some walls? Or is he going to let you get a word in first?” Flowey asks you with an amused hum as you get ready for the night. You glare at him, mostly for his description of Sans, and casually toss a shirt in his direction. You give a self-satisfied smile as it covers him and causes him to flail about for a minute in order to get it off.

“Sans isn’t that temperamental…or that motivated,” you admit with a slight laugh, “and even if he doesn’t like you, I don’t think he really knows why. Remember, he doesn’t keep his memories like you and I, he only has his reports to go off. He’ll let me explain.” You frown lightly, slipping your striped shirt over the long-sleeved shirt beneath. “He’ll probably be a little bit annoyed but…he’ll get over it. Especially once he knows there was no resetting involved.”

“You know,” Flowey butts in, “I was _taunting_ you. I really don’t care to hear your whole explanation. All this taking is making my nonexistent ears bleed.”

You just roll your eyes. Finished getting ready, you move over to Flowey and lean your face close, giving him the most fearsome look you can. Admittedly, it’s probably not very fearsome.

“I’m taking you out there with me. I want you where I can keep an eye on you, and it’s probably best to get this all over with as quickly as possible. Behave. Yourself.” You tell him, wagging a finger in his face for emphasis. He only smirks and you sigh and admit to yourself that your words mean less than nothing to him. Feeling your tension coil tighter, you grasp his pot and head out into the living room.

Unsurprisingly, it is Papyrus that enters the house first. He’s developed a new favorite way of accomplishing this. You hear a series of knocks: three in a row, then one final, rather loud one. Then the door bursts open and he strolls in, and you and Toriel both giggle to yourselves. If it were anyone else, it would be rude. In fact, Toriel usually frowned in disapproval when Undyne entered the house with a similar lack of tact. But this was Papyrus. Toriel had long since told him that he was welcome at any time and did not, in fact, need to knock. But he always insisted.

“HUMAN!” moderation really wasn’t his thing, “AND YOUR MAJESTY! IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU BOTH. I HAVE MISSED MY GOOD FRIENDS!” he practically trots over to you and swings you up into a sweeping hug that makes you giggle. You wrap your arms around his boney neck and hum happily.

“We have missed you both as well,” Toriel tells him with a smile, “even if it has only been two days since you were last here for dinner.” You laugh at her slight joke, knowing that the trace of friendly sarcasm has missed Papyrus completely.

“ALAS, I COULD NOT COME LAST NIGHT BECAUSE I WAS WORKING. IT IS VERY IMPORTANT TO HUMANS THAT YOU ARE ON TIME FOR YOUR JOB! I DO NOT USUALLY WORK AT NIGHT LIKE THAT, BUT MY WORK-HUMAN-FRIEND WAS VERY SICK, AND SO I TOLD HER I WOULD TAKE HER SHIFT! HUMAN WORK…IS VERY STRANGE.” He admits with the Papyrus version of a frown.

“It’s okay,” you tell him with a smile, “work _is_ very important. I guess I can forgive you for not coming over last night…as long as you brought some spaghetti to make up for it!”

“THERE IS NO CHANCE THAT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WOULD EVER FORGET TO BRING MY VERY GOOD FRIENDS MY BEST CULINARY CREATION! IT IS TUCKED SAFELY AWAY, UNDER MY VERY COOL HAT!”

Of course it is.

He finally sets you down in order to free the captive pasta meal and hurries into the kitchen to place it at the table. Meanwhile, you turn a smile to the much quieter, patiently waiting skeleton brother. You’re filled with relief when he gives you one of his trademark winks.

“hey kid, hey Tori,” he says in his usual, laid-back tone, “undyne said to let you know that she and Alphys are having an official date night, but they’ll be sure to catch up on dinner tomorrow.”

Toriel nods with a smile, clasping her hands together, “that is fine. Well, since we are not waiting for anyone else, shall we move into the kitchen and get started on what should be a wonderful meal?” she asks.

“sounds good Tori. you go on, we’ll be there in just a _mom_ -ent,” sans replies, dragging a giggle from both you and Toriel. Once she’s gone into the kitchen, he turns to you. Your relief grows when you see that he still doesn’t look angry, just pensive.

“you and me, we gotta talk, yeah pal?” he asks. You nod in agreement, and he continues before you can say anything, “yeah. but not now, we’ll catch up later. best get into that kitchen before Papyrus-“ he’s cut off rather suddenly by an explosion of noise from none other than the subject of his sentence.

“FLOWEY, IS THAT YOU? I DIDN’T SEE YOU THERE! WOWIE, IT’S GREAT TO SEE YOU AGAIN, I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER COME TO VISIT ME! ALTHOUGH…I GUESS IT MUST BE FRISK YOU ARE VISITING, BUT CERTAINTLY, YOU WERE GOING TO-”

You feel a sudden, inexplicable spike in alarm, especially when you can’t hear Flowey’s interrupting reply. You’re already moving towards the kitchen when you hear Toriel’s alarmed voice entering the commotion.

“What are you doing, put that—Papyrus!” His name is very nearly a scream.

You skid to a stop in the doorway, quickly taking in the scene with a growing sensation of horror. Flowey, smirking at you with his twisted, fanged sneer. Toriel with her paws clasped to her mouth, eyes wide and tearing and fearful. On the ground in front of Flowey, a pile of dust with a large kitchen knife sitting in the middle.

Flowey winks at you, a tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. “ _Heehee_ …oops. I was only trying to hand him the knife, but he accidently caught it with his neck. What a horrible accident.” Your eyes meet with an understanding between them. His smirk. Your anger.

The world jolts. You open your eyes.

Back on your bed, again.

Flowey is on your dresser, looking down at you in amusement.

“You’re hardly any fun, you know. Didn’t even give Sans the chance to respond. I’m sure that would have been a show! Have you learned your lesson yet? Because if not, I’m more than happy to do this over and over and over again!” He punctuates his words with another giggle.

You’re going to throttle that flower.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, feedback of any sort is always appreciated. It can be given here, or at my tumblr: pyroweasel.tumblr.com. 
> 
> Just a quick last note concerning uploading: 
> 
> I am a graduate student. Thankfully, this semester is just about over and I only really have one last big assignment. If my motivation keeps up as it is, my uploading should be fairly quick. That being said, I will shortly be going home for christmas ("home" is about thirteen hours away from me). I will have my computer, but the amount of time I actually spend on it may be lessened. Uploads may slow down a bit around that time. 
> 
> But they will continue! As long as interest continues in the story, it will be seen to completion. 
> 
> Please, if you have any comments or questions let me know. As usual, creative criticism is welcome, but flaming is not. 
> 
> Thanks guys  
> End_Transmission


	3. Flowey's New Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which Flowey gets a little too big for his pot.

You almost can’t believe it when two days pass by without another incident. That’s not to say Flowey has been behaving himself, of course. He’s been as prickly as ever, rarely speaking to anyone without dissolving into insults. You are, unsurprisingly, his favorite target. You get the sense that his mischievousness is dissolving into a real anger, and you’re growing concerned that the peace will not last.

Today, though, the usually vocal monster has been rather quiet. Currently you’re standing on a stool in the kitchen, hands submerged in dish water as you help Toriel clean up from breakfast. She is drying to your left, humming lightly as she works, while Flowey is sitting in his pot on the counter to your right. For the last ten minutes he has been watching you both work, eyes following your hands’ movements.

“Hey, Frisk,” he finally says. You look over to him, hands still working, and raise an eyebrow towards him. You can’t help but think that he’s gotten awfully good at reading your facial expressions. You’re glad, because chatting him up honestly isn’t your favorite thing to do. Your eyebrow raises a little further when he clears his throat and shifts slightly. If you didn’t know the monster like you do, you’d think he was nervous about something.

“You told me you would take me anywhere I wanted, remember?” he says, “well…I think it’s about time you made good on that promise!” Ah, there’s the rudeness you’ve come to be familiar with. Any trace of nervousness is gone and now he’s looking at you expectedly. There’s a smugness to his look that is starting to really grind your gears. You just nod at him, willing him to go on with the gesture. Your lack of a verbal reply seems to throw him off a bit.

“I want to be planted in the actual earth. I’m sick of this little pot, my roots feel like they’re shriveling up. And you never water me right, it’s either too little or way too much. If I were a normal houseplant, I’d be dead ten times over already!” His whining stops when he notices the way you’re looking at him. You’re hoping to go for an unamused semi-glare. Whining had become one of his favorite pastimes. You had quickly gotten tired of it.

“Anyway,” he says, dragging out the ‘y’ sounds, “so I’ve been thinking of where I want to go. The king has a garden here, doesn’t he? I want you to plant me there.”

“No.” You don’t even think about the answer. Not that it matters, you would have had the same answer even if you had thought about it. Flowey stares at you for a second, before his face twists angrily and he leans closer, hissing near your face.

“No? What do you mean, no?” His fangs descend as his face twists further, “ _I knew it, I knew it all along. This isn’t about being nice, you just want to see me suffer! You lied to get me up here, so you could keep me as some little...little pet! You aren’t nearly as nice as everyone thinks you are, are you? Are you sure you’re really Frisk at all?”_

You dry your hands off as he rants, long past the point of being hurt by what he says. It’s not the first time he’s called you cruel, nor is it the first time he’s suggested that you were still being controlled in some way by Chara. Alright, so that thought still hurt a bit. But you’d gotten good at making sure he didn’t know it. While he talks, Toriel is looking at you in worry. You shake your head lightly at her and give her a smile, and she seems to get the message. With one last look at the angry flower, she heads out of the kitchen, leaving you two alone. You look at Flowey and cross your arms.

“Done? Great, then listen. When I made that agreement, I thought it was pretty obvious it depended on your behavior. Not two days ago you killed Papyrus and made me have to reload, again. And ever since you’ve been nothing but nasty and mean. Not that I expected any less, but sorry if I don’t have a lot of faith in your ability not to kill anyone. Or tell someone something you shouldn’t. Or enrage someone into killing _you_. So no, I’m not planting you in Asgore’s garden,” you tell him. He’s quiet for a long moment and when he finally speaks again, he does so while looking at you with suspicious, narrowed eyes.

“I don’t get it. Why would you care if I made someone so mad that they killed me? Seems like a pretty easy fix for this mess you’ve gotten yourself into. No more me, no more reloads. What’s your game? Trying to make me feel sappy or something? Not going to happen.”

You sigh lightly. That would be the one thing he latches on to in your little tirade. In a way, his question reminds you of why you’d thought this was worth it to begin with. Even without a soul, the flower monster was oddly good at self-deprecation. On the plus side, this fact fills you with a peculiar type of determination. Maybe, just maybe, this isn’t as much of a lost cause as it often feels like.

“Do you think I enjoy this, Flowey? Knowing I might have to reload again because you might hurt someone? Having to live day in and day out with your jabs and cruel jokes? If I didn’t care about you at all, you’d be back in the underground already. But I told you once and I’ll say it again…despite it all, you’re my friend. You know me, you know determination is kind of my shtick. I’m not giving up.” Yes, it’s sappy. But you really think Flowey has to hear it, even if he can never return the feeling, even if he can never accept what you say. There’s also the fact that it makes you feel a bit better, too.

“You’re a real idiot, Frisk,” he says, his face falling back into its normal, albeit confused features. You smile lightly at him, not at all fooled by his uninspired insult, and he looks away with a light huff.

You let him stew in his thoughts for a couple of minutes before you climb down from your stool and look at him again.

“I’ve…wanted to start a garden myself, you know,” you tell him. He looks at you but, for once, doesn’t interrupt. There’s distrust on his face again, and you know if you don’t hurry to the point, he’s going to start accusing you of rambling. “Right out in the backyard, where I could see it from my bedroom window. A good garden needs a good centerpiece. Maybe like a golden, talking flower?” You eye him, for once unable to read his response directly on his face. He doesn’t respond right away.

 When he does, it’s with a slight sneer. “I bet it’s a lot smaller out there then it would be in Asgore’s garden. And it won’t be nearly as nice,” he pauses and you wait, “but fine. I guess it’s got to be better than a stupid pot.”

You nod in agreement and turn back to the dishes. Your afternoon is planned, it seems. Flowey makes another jab at you for not replanting him immediately, but you ignore it. He falls back into a grumpy silence, although you spot him sneaking glances out the window towards the backyard. You don’t think he can feel excitement, but maybe he can feel a sort of positive anticipation. You, on the other hand, feel so nervous you could almost be sick. You don’t know enough about Flowey to know what will happen after he’s planted. Will he be able to move freely, like he could in the underground? If so, that’ll spell huge trouble for you. And probably another reload. Even if he can’t, you won’t be able to watch him all day every day. Eventually one of your friends will wander into the backyard, and there’s no way any interaction between him and anyone else will go well. Your worry curls in the pit of your stomach, and another save forms.

Regardless, you can’t go back on your word now.

You go out later that day, armed with a pot-of-nuisance and a trowel. You and said nuisance walk a few laps around the yard, with you occasionally bending down to let one of Flowey’s vines probe at the earth. In typical Flowey fashion, he has something bad to say about every plot of dirt you propose. It’s only when you tell him, pretty firmly, that if he doesn’t chose you’re going to change your mind about this whole thing that he finally decides. He picks a patch of dirt that’s still within view of your window, but out a ways from the house.

The process is very similar to when you put him in the pot in the first place. The biggest difference is his roots really have grown smaller and it’s much easier to dig him out. He wiggles a bit as you transplant him, but remains fairly quiet as you do. You suppose even he doesn’t want to risk anything while you’re holding him in your hands. You spend perhaps a bit too much time patting the dirt around his base. You’re reluctant to leave him there, so even once you can’t justify patting the dirt anymore, you move back and sit on the ground near him. For a few heartbeats, you stare at each other.

“Well, jobs done. Er…” he pauses for a second, then shakes his leaves slightly, his look turning haughty, “now, don’t you have anything better to do? Or are you so braindead that sitting here and staring at me is actually entertaining for you?” He looks startled when you start laughing and seems especially puzzled by the fact that the laughter is genuine. You do stand up though, and his confusion turns to alarm as you all of a sudden lean over him.

“Flowey?” you ask. He gives you a questioning look in return. You’re pretty sure you hear him choke a bit when you lean down and place a very quick kiss to his top petal, “You’re welcome.”

Taking advantage of his surprise, you turn to leave him to his new home. You’d honestly thought he’d be lost in thought for at least another minute or so, so you’re completely taken off-guard by what happens next. The vine is thick, and its strong grip is painful around your rather fragile human neck. You’re not _quite_ smashed forward into the ground, but your face gets awfully close to it before you’re suddenly whipped around to face Flowey. The fury on his face reminds you uncomfortably of Omega Flowey and, for a moment, you’re truly scared of him.

“ _Who do you think you are?”_ he hisses at you as the vine around your neck wiggles, _“With that mushy shit. What are you trying to pull? Did you really think I’d let you get away with that? What, did you think I would get all flustered and embarrassed and start really rethinking my ways?”_ The grip is quickly becoming painful, and you can feel the pressure build in your face as breathing becomes nearly impossible. _“You_ fucking _idiot.”_ The swear is frightening in its own way, _“have you forgotten that I could kill you just like that? It only takes a few bullets, Frisk! Or better yet…a simple squeeze and twist from this vine and your neck would snap like a twig. Reload or not, you’re at_ my _mercy, Frisk. It’s a lesson I’ll make sure you don’t forget again.”_

You’re staring at each other again. You can’t get even a single breath through the squeezing around your throat. Breathing seems like a moot point though because in this instant you are sure he’s going to kill you. You prepare for the jolt you know will come. You prepare to reload.

And then he’s tossing you to the ground rather forcibly. You bounce a bit as you slide, the dirt and grass scraping up the right side of your body. You sit up shakily, touching the ragged spot on your cheek that you’re sure is going to bruise. It’s hard, but somehow you bring yourself to look at Flowey again. The rage hasn’t really subsided, but somehow he’s not quite Omega-Flowey-Level frightening anymore. Still, even that thought doesn’t stop the tremors in your body. The adrenaline is quickly overwhelming you.

_“I’ll say it one more time, Frisk. Leave me alone.”_ Even as his face seems to be slowly reverting to normal, the shaking echo in his voice remains. You swallow, hard, wincing at the pain the motion sends down your throat. The bile of nausea mixes with the bitterness of the shame swelling in your soul and you scrabble to your feet. You’re barely up when you whip around and hurry back to the house. You hate to show such weakness to Flowey, who would surely take advantage of it, but you’re simply too shaken up to care.

Later, you’re sitting on your bed as Toriel tends to your wounds. You’re barely registering her small, fearful lecture. She wants you to return Flowey to the underground. She’s terrified for your safety and, frankly, for the safety of the rest of the monsters as well. Her fingers are at your throat, trying to soothe the pain and damage there. You tell yourself you’ll talk to her later about this topic, talk to her seriously, but for now you can’t bring any words to the surface. You hate the way your hands continue, even now, to shake. You don’t tell her you won’t do it, because in that moment you’re not even sure yourself. Knowing that a part of you wants to heed her advice and trap the flower back underground…it fills you with shame.

It’s not until you’re getting ready for bed that you finally make yourself look out your window. Flowey is, surprisingly, in the same spot you had left him. You’re not sure what that means.

He is looking towards the ground, hunched over so much that his petals are completely covering his face. You’re strongly reminded of the way he looked after you defeated him as Omega Flowey, when he was certainly at his weakest. The sight…it stirs your determination. It doesn’t come raging back. Your mind is not suddenly set on the correct path. But you decide to give it more time to think it over.

For now, you’ll do your best to stay determined.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and thanks again for the continued support! Let me know what you guys thought and as always, feel free to check out my tumblr at pyroweasel.tumblr.com.


	4. Surface World Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA: The chapter in which Flowey faces off with a deer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another HUGE thank you to everyone who has reviewed/left kudos/read. Every new comment really makes me smile. I'm glad you're all enjoying the story so far! I'm especially glad that people seem to enjoy my Flowey. I have a lot of fun writing him. 
> 
> At this point, I'm judging that this story will probably be around 6-7 chapters long. However, that's going to depend big time on Flowey and the pacing of his character development. I don't want to rush anything, as the whole point of this fic was to take the Floweypot idea and apply it to a Flowey who isn't very nice at all. So if I feel like I'm getting close to that chapter number, but that I'd have to rush his development to finish, the story will end up being longer. So count that as a rough estimate, for now.
> 
> I do want to create a companion piece. I'm not sure if I'll do it sometime soon, while this work is still underway. I may wait until this one is finished. A few things I'd like to put into it: Sans and Frisk discuss the reloads, Frisk and Toriel discuss Asriel (when Toriel knows about Flowey, before that chapter's reload), and possibly even some one-on-ones between Flowey and other characters (Papyrus, maybe Sans). I'm just not quite sure when I'll start working on this, but you'll be the first to know! 
> 
> Anyway, enough out of me. Enjoy!

“FriiissSKKKKK!”

You shoot up in your bed with a start, for a moment unsure of where the noise had coming from. Your brain catches up with your body a second later and you realize it had come from outside. Specifically from a certain flower monster. For a moment, just a moment, you consider ignoring it. As you wake, the scene from the evening before starts to creep back into your mind. You’re very tempted to, at the very least, leave Flowey completely to his own devices for the day. You could really use a break, or else you really are going to end up shoving him back underground.

“Get _away_ , you stupid beast! What part of leave me alone don’t you understand? FRISK HURRY UP!”

You sigh lightly. You know once you look out the window and see what’s going on, you’ll end up going out there. He does sound…distressed. You run a hand over your face, steel yourself, and look out the window. You’re really glad Flowey isn’t in the room that moment to hear your startled laughter.

Flowey is where you left him, currently weaving back and forth. His face is screwed into his most menacing glare, and you can tell even from your room that he’s hissing with all of his might. Vines are beginning to poke out of the ground around him. Why all of the fuss? Because of the deer standing a foot or two away from him, staring at the flower monster with animalistic confusion. You see it take a step closer, and the sudden bristling along Flowey’s petals tells you that he didn’t like that at all. You also notice that the deer isn’t actually making any moves to eat Flowey. It seems far too confused about a talking flower to bother.

Still, you know that this will likely turn violent very quickly. In fact, you’re a bit surprised it hasn’t already. You’re also surprised to see that Flowey hasn’t moved. You wonder if that means he can’t. Wouldn’t that be a blessing? Finally deciding you really can’t leave that poor deer to Flowey’s tender mercies, you climb from your bed and make your way outside.

You only have to walk a little way across the yard before the deer spots you and bolts. You’re a human, that’s something it knows exactly how to deal with. Flowey spins to face you and his petals fall down around his face in relief. A face that is, thankfully, back to its usual shape.

“Jeez, about time Frisk. I thought that thing was going to make me a Flowey salad!” he says, looking quickly behind him as though concerned the deer will come back, “What _was_ that thing? It was like a gryftrot but…weird! It was definitely braindead, like it wasn’t hearing a word I said.”

“Humans would say that gryftrot is the weird one,” you tell him, your voice quiet, still a bit hoarse, still a bit sore, “It’s called a deer. It’s an animal. And it wouldn’t have eaten you, because there’s no way you would have let it. I saw your vines, you were ready to tear it apart.” You frown, peering at him more closely, “in fact I’m surprised you waited for me at all. Why didn’t you stop it yourself? Or better yet, why didn’t you move?”

Flowey huffs, and if he had arms you’re sure they would have been crossed. “Because I can’t. This soil isn’t like the stuff in the underground. Maybe it’s the lack of magic, or something. I can’t travel through it like I could down there. And the only reason I didn’t kill it as soon as I saw it is because I don’t really feel like reliving anything today. And knowing your stupid, soft heart, you would have reloaded just to spare that…thing.”

You don’t correct him, even though you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t have reloaded for a deer. Sure, you would have felt badly, and it would have made convincing Toriel to let Flowey stay much more difficult. But it probably wouldn’t have been worth a reload. But this isn’t the time to argue with the flower. If he really didn’t want to go through the inconvenience of reliving a day, maybe that meant he would behave himself for once. At least for a day. You could only hope, right?

“Right. Well, if you see another one, just take your vines out and wave them around. You’ll spook it enough to run. Deer aren’t very bold animals. They just like flowers and grass and stuff,” you tell him. “Since it’s gone now, I’m going back inside. To help with breakfast,” you tell him, turning around to do so.

“Frisk, wait,” he says, and you turn back around with a questioning look. You’re surprised to see him look…well, uncomfortable is the first word that comes to mind. His petals are shifting slightly, and he’s not quite meeting your eyes. He doesn’t say anything else for what feels like a long minute, and his expression is guarded when he finally does make eye contact.

“Do you remember what I told you, back when we first met? Right before you left the ruins?” He asks. You don’t verbally respond, instead giving him another look. How could you possibly have forgotten? You’re not sure you’ve forgotten anything the flower has ever said to you. “Yeah, well, listen,” he continues, “I still stand by what I said then.”

You try and rehearse the conversation in your mind to figure out what, exactly, he could be referring to. Flowey scoffs when he notices the confused frown on your face.  

“You’re going to make me spell it out for you, aren’t you? Look, you…you’re a really crappy monarch, actually. But for all intents and purposes…you still are the one with all the power here. With your reloading, and resetting, things I can’t do anymore. Remember? My plan isn’t regicide. At least, not permanent regicide. You’re really fun to mess with. _Really fun_ ,” he smirks lightly at this, his face twisting a bit as he continues, “and killing you is always a good way to stretch my skills,” he shakes his face back to normal, “but last night wasn’t intentional. You just…really get under my petals with all of this mushy crap you pull. It was just too much. So I overreacted a little bit. I just thought you should know that. For what it’s worth.”

You’re not sure how to respond to this. It’s not an apology, not really. Then again, it’s much closer to one than you ever thought Flowey would manage. You’re positive there’s some kind of motive behind it. For all his whining, you get the impression Flowey really doesn’t want to go back to the underground. Likely, he’s simply trying to appease you. Probably, you shouldn’t let him. Unfortunately, you are. Your determination to continue down this path feels stronger now. So you nod to Flowey, and something unspoken passes between you with the gesture. Deciding that break sounds really good right about now, you leave the flower to his own devices.

* * *

 

“My child, you know I trust you absolutely. I just do not think keeping that miserable creature around here is such a good idea. It is a miracle he did not hurt you worse than he did last night. Likely, it will be a few days before your voice sounds normal again. I did not even know anything was happening. He is not like other monsters, not at all. He will probably hurt you again. Or may hurt one of the others. I truly think the underground would be a better place for him.” Toriel takes a sip from her tea. She is sitting across from you at the kitchen table, where you are currently looking deep into your own cup.

You know she has a point. In fact, she has many points. Despite his apparent…something (regret?) today, it was highly unlikely that Flowey wouldn’t hurt anyone again. Whether it was you, or Toriel, or any of the others. What if some unsuspecting human walked across your backyard? You know, you’ve known all along, that this is a dangerous thing to attempt. If you didn’t have the ability to save and reload, you probably wouldn’t have even gone to the underground for Flowey in the first place. But you do have that power. You know that there is nothing he can do that you cannot fix. Even if you’re left scarred for the effort. And after today, there’s the slightest hope in your heart that maybe this will turn out okay.

“Mom,” you say quietly, knowing the term will get her attention, “I understand why you’re afraid. Honestly, I kind of am too. But please…I think, maybe, something inside of him is changing. Just a tiny bit. And if he’s not hopeless, how could I possibly give up on him?” You frown lightly at her, your brow furrowed in worry. She searches your face, and then her own softens. She reaches across the table and lays one furry paw over your own hand.

“I have known for a while that there are things you have not told me, child. I will not pry into those. As I said, I do trust you completely. If you believe this is for the best, I will not stop you. I only ask that you be as careful as you can, my dearest. I should not…” she pauses, and you can see her eyes shimmer a bit as she smiles at you, “I should not like to lose another child.”

You scurry from her chair and hurry to hers, climbing onto her lap without hesitation. Her arms close around you as you give her your own hug, burrowing your face into the fur of her neck.

“You won’t, mom. I promise. I’m not going anywhere,” you tell her quietly.

You both sit like that for a few long minutes, although you’re hardly counting. This, you think, this is what makes it all worth it. For a moment in time, you can forget about the cruel, angry monster in your backyard. No matter what he may say, or what he may do, you know that you have found a love that will never give up on you. It fills you with determination.

“Can I ask a favor?” You ask after some time, turning your face to look up at her. At her nod, you continue, “could you find some way to keep the others away tonight? I know we usually have dinner with someone but…I think it would be better not to risk it, at least not tonight.”

“I will find something to tell them, do not worry.” She responds, finally releasing you from the hug in order to ruffle your hair lightly.

“One more thing?” you ask cautiously, plowing forward at her amused but gentle smile, “could we go shopping for some gardening supplies?”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen your surrogate mother so excited.

* * *

 

You’re out for a while before you eventually get too antsy to leave Flowey alone any longer. Still, your impromptu shopping trip proves rather successful. To add to that success, you’re pleasantly surprised to find your backyard both blood and dust free when you get home. Of course, Flowey is clearly rather unhappy, if the glare he fixes you with is any indication.

“Well it’s about time! I thought for sure you’d decided to abandon me to the will of the wilds. I’ve been alone out here all day, you know! I’m practically going mad with boredom!” He exclaims, spreading his petals in a gesture reminiscent of someone throwing their arms up in exasperation. “And when you finally do come back, it’s with…all of that. What do you even have there?”

You smile lightly as you lay your purchases on the ground near him. They include a pair of thick gardening gloves, a variety of seed packets, a hand-held cultivator, and finally a small radio. The radio had been a spur-of-the-moment choice, but you thought a bit of music for your work would be nice. Especially if it could help drown out certain annoying monsters.

“Flowey, it’s only been four hours. And I had to get stuff for gardening, see? I told you I wanted to plant a garden. That wasn’t just a lie for your sake, you know,” you tell him, “look, I got all sorts of flowers. If there are any you don’t like, you should tell me. It’s going to be as much your garden as mine, after all. Oh! Except these you’ll have to live with,” you hold up one of the packets, “bleeding hearts…it’s a really nice plant.”

Unsurprisingly, Flowey scowls at you. “I don’t like any of them! This is stupid. Why would you want boring flowers like these? You have me, that’s all the flower this yard needs.” You roll your eyes, reaching to fiddle with the radio to find some music.

“I’ll pick the flowers by myself then. One flower does not a garden make, Flowey.” You settle on a station that seems to be playing some “new hits of today,” pull on your new gardening gloves, and get to work. Flowey doesn’t seem to have a response for you.

In fact, as time passes and you continue to work, you suddenly realize that it’s been some time since he’s said anything at all. You look up from the hole you’re currently working on, leaving a streak of dirt over your forehead as you wipe at it, and turn your gaze to Flowey. To your surprise, you see that he’s not paying you any attention at all. In fact, his front is facing towards the radio and his eyes are closed. He’s weaving and rocking back and forth, and after a few seconds you realize it’s in time to the beat. You open your mouth to say something, then close it again when you decide against it. You can’t interrupt him, not when he seems to be (dare you say it?) enjoying himself. Hardly daring to believe it, you return to your work.

“This pattern is stupid,” he says a while later as you sit back, finally done with phase one of your gardening project. You frown at him, and he seems affronted. “Well it is! Doesn’t seem like it even has any sense. Did you just willy-nilly decide where to plant these things? I guess we can chalk this up to another thing you’re not very good at.” Looking at him now, you can’t be sure that you didn’t hallucinate his ‘dancing’ earlier.

“You should have said something sooner,” you tell him, maybe a tad bit snobbish, “besides, it will look very nice when everything starts to grow. Just you wait and see.” You gather up your things, flip off the radio, and stand. Your back groans a bit in protest from all the leaning. But looking at the plots of land where flowers will grow, you can ignore the pain. Satisfied, you look at Flowey again. “You know…mom’s going to make some pie later. Do you want me to bring you some?” He narrows his eyes at you. Nothing he does surprises you much anymore.

“Not a chance,” he tells you. You nod and turn to head back towards the house. Once again, you don’t get far before his voice beckons your attention. “Hey, wait! Leave the radio, I want it.” You look at him with a raised eyebrow, walking back over as you separate the radio from the rest of your pile.

“Say please,” you tell him. He hisses at you in response. You sigh lightly and set down the radio anyway. “You’re lucky I’m so nice, you know,” you say. He reaches out with a leaf to turn the radio back on, clearly intent on ignoring you now. This time you chuckle lightly, then leave him to his little pleasures.

* * *

 

You half expect him to still be dancing when you walk into the garden the next morning. That probably would have been surprising. What’s not so surprising, however, are the tunnels spreading all around the garden. Tunnels that seem to have a center point at a very smug looking flower monster. Tunnels that have managed to upturn every single seed you planted the evening before.

“Oops,” Flowey says with a chuckle. You sigh. Looks like it’ll be another day of gardening for you. You can only hope the flower might be a bit more helpful this time around. You recognize the hope as futile.

Still, though you try to show annoyance, inside you’re actually relieved. An hour or two of work lost is worth the fact that you both managed to get through an entire day without anyone injured or killed.

You’ll chalk that up to a tentative win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think.
> 
> End_Transmission  
> pyroweasel.tumblr.com


	5. Flowey: The Musical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Flowey has a minor breakdown.
> 
> (In which Flowey pulls some of his usual shit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I had a final today that I've been studying for, so I kind of had to focus on that. 
> 
> But here it finally is. Please enjoy! :)

“Tell me something,” Flowey says. You glance at him from where you’re working, pruning away weeds that have begun to grow. His statement is demanding, but you’re surprised to see that he looks thoughtful. Usually he’d start a sentence like this and finish it with something degrading. But it looks like he’s going to ask you something for real, this time.  

* * *

 

Two and a half weeks or so have passed since you rescued Flowey from the underground. They have been some of the most interesting weeks of your life. There had been an odd, subtle shift since the morning he’d tore up your garden. You’re not sure what it is, you haven’t been able to put your finger on it. But the very feeling of something being different has been enough to keep your determination strong.

That being said, in most ways, the flower monster was still absolutely himself. He was prone to mocking jokes, cruel words, and, yes, occasional killings. Those frustrated you the most. This was largely because it forced you to reload every time one occurred.  Also, even with the knowledge that you could reload, it always really hurt to find a friend dusted. On top of that, you knew how bad for the psyche it was to kill. Even though Flowey didn’t have a soul to corrupt, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d taken two huge leaps back every time he committed murder. The worst part was, he knew all of this too. It was clearly a motivating factor in his behavior.  

About two days after the gardening incident, two days that had passed rather peacefully, you had finally asked Toriel to invite the others over again. Having clearly missed hanging out, they had all showed up that night. To your surprise, your guest roster included Asgore. That didn’t happen very often, mostly because of Toriel’s feelings towards her ex-husband. You had found out later from Toriel that she had allowed him to come over for your sake. You were glad to see him. In fact, you were glad to see all of your friends. It was nice to be surrounded by people who had the ability to love you in return.

Of course, you had revealed to them, later that night, the real reason you had wanted them all to come. That evening, you had taken them all outside to speak to Flowey.

As he had been the first time, Papyrus had been thrilled to see his friend. You were simultaneously glad and a little sad that he didn’t remember anything of Flowey’s betrayal(s). Of course, even if he had, you got the feeling Papyrus would have forgiven the flower anyway. Still, you can’t help but wish he’d have a little more caution around Flowey. Now that he knew that he was in your backyard, you had the feeling Papyrus would visit the other monster often. You had little doubt some of those meetings would end in disaster.

This one, however, was more successful than the last. There had been a fair amount of awkwardness stemming from the fact that Papyrus was the only one so happy to see Flowey. Asgore had been curious to meet a talking flower that so resembled the ones of his throne room. Undyne had disliked Flowey immediately and had excused herself back inside to help Toriel, or so she had said. You’re sure she did that so she wouldn’t start insulting your supposed friend while you were around. Alphys and Sans had kept their distances, both obviously suspicious of the flower. Alphys for obvious reasons. Sans, you assumed, distrusted Flowey because of his association with his brother and maybe because of echoes from past timelines. You certainly didn’t blame either of them.

Flowey was…well, he was interesting. He had said nothing to Alphys, Sans, or Undyne. His words to Asgore had been short, sweet, and obviously designed to keep his distance from the king of monsters. Those reactions weren’t surprising. It was the way he had handled Papyrus that had been unusual. You had expected him to be biting towards the older skeleton brother. After all, he had no reason to continue stringing Papyrus along as he had in the underground. You doubted he had any reason to care what the others thought of him, either.

To your surprise, however, Flowey had been careful with Papyrus. Had greeted him with a muted version of Papyrus’s own excitement. Flowey had begun the conversation with some general platitudes (how are you liking the surface, Pap? What do you think about humans, Pap?), and before long their conversation had turned into the same kind of conversation anyone had with Papyrus. That was, Papyrus ranting and raving about all of his favorite things to do with the surface, and Flowey listening with apparent patience and even interest.

When you all parted to go inside for food, Flowey had even given Papyrus a hearty goodbye and a wave. You had been the last in and had turned to look at Flowey incredulously. He had shrugged his leaves, then given you one of his trademark winks. That had made you nervous.

It wasn’t Papyrus he went after this time, however. Asgore had excused himself shortly after dinner, saying something about wanting to learn more about the talking flower monster in your backyard. In truth, you had been in a combined conversation between Papyrus and Undyne at the time. You registered the king’s words a minute or two later, and had hurried to excuse yourself and follow him. After all, you definitely did not trust Flowey alone with any of your friends yet.

As usual, your feelings had been correct. The dust wasn’t a surprise. You would have been shocked if the night had gone off without a hitch. What you had expected was amusement from Flowey. It was what you got that was truly surprising.

He was looking at you darkly as you walked out of the house. It wasn’t really a glare, and in fact his face was still in its normal form. But there was an eeriness to him, punctuated by the dust covering his petals and the ground around him, which had thrown you for a loop.

“This is who I am,” he had told you, a light hiss accentuating his voice, “seems like maybe you were starting to forget that. Just wanted to make sure you got a _real_ good reminder.”

In truth, even now you weren’t quite sure what to make of that. You’d decided to go through that day again as you had the first time. In its second iteration, the day had gone by just fine. Reactions had been more or less the same, but the day had passed without another death. Flowey had also seemed more himself, the events of the previous load seemingly forgotten. He hadn’t mentioned it since.

Other events had happened randomly, and in those reloads where Flowey killed someone, it was always with his trademark amusement, as though it was a private joke between the two of you. Honestly, it felt like there had been more deaths than there probably had been. That told you all you needed to know about how it was starting to weigh on you. Nevertheless, things had progressed. By now, everyone knew Flowey was there and would remember that even if you had to reload.

* * *

 

As of this moment, it has been about four days since the last time Flowey killed someone. It’s a new record. He doesn’t know about the small planner you’ve begun keeping in your dresser. If he did, he’d mess things up on purpose. But you find it’s good to keep track of what he does and how time passes.

Flowey continues his question, and you’re snapped out of your thoughts and back into the present day. Where you are caring for your fledgling garden and getting ready to respond to whatever it is Flowey wants to ask you.

“How can there be so many different songs? I listen to this thing,” he gestures at the radio with a leaf, “and sure, things repeat all the time. But sometimes new things come on that I haven’t heard before. It was _always_ the same old stuff down in the underground. How is it that the surface world has so much…variety?”

Ah, yes. You’ve written that on your mental list as another curiosity where Flowey is concerned. Ever since that first time you’d worked in the garden and had brought the radio along with you, Flowey had all but taken it over. He still never reacted to it when anyone was watching, at least not beyond a petal or two twitching. But you’d seen him from the corner of your eye, or from your window at night when he assumed you were sleeping. Flowey not only seemed to enjoy music, but was also prone to ‘dancing’ to it in his own, flower-like way.

You would almost call it a fascination of sorts. For easily the first week (plus some, counting reloads), Flowey had spent a lot of time flipping stations and sampling what they had to offer. He seemed to have finally settled on his preferred music, though. He fancied the newest hits of the week, usually of the fast-paced pop variety. It wasn’t what you would have pegged as his taste, but you were not about to say a word about it.

“Well,” you told him, settling down with your legs crossed under you, “that’s because we have a lot of people to make music. The underground pretty much just had Mettaton, right?” You continue as Flowey nods, “Well, we have lots of people. There are people who make the actual music, the people who sing, and people who play instruments either by themselves or in bands. Guess I don’t know the exact numbers, but there are probably hundreds of thousands of music-creators in the world. So, there are a lot of songs and scores out there.”  You wish you had a camera just then to capture the actual _stunned_ look on the monster’s face.

“I guess when Mettaton said the human world didn’t really need him, he wasn’t kidding.” For a second, Flowey’s face morphs slightly as he smirks. “As a matter of fact, I bet being up here has been a real blow for him! I bet he doesn’t even become famous.”

“You’d be wrong,” you tell him, unable to help a smirk of your own, “people were very interested in a morphing monster-robot with the kind of talent Mettaton has. He’s already pretty popular and very happy.” You’re satisfied by the way Flowey’s smugness deflates. He doesn’t grace you with a response. Instead, he turns away from you and looks back at the radio, a clear dismissal of the conversation at hand. You’re more than okay with this, because there is an idea blossoming in your mind. And you know exactly who to talk to.

* * *

 

“Alphys, will you please ask him for me? You get to talk to him way more often than I do.”

It’s a day or so later (and you can hardly believe that your calendar has remained incident free!) and you’ve invited your scientist friend along for a quick lunch at the nearby beach. You’re not actually doing any swimming, but just hanging around the boardwalk with some cheap corndogs is fun enough for you both. Alphys doesn’t much like the actual swimming part anyway.

“I don’t know, Frisk. I’ve seen some of the concerts humans have, they don’t really seem like a place for someone as young as you,” seeing the look on your face, she quickly hurries, “n-not that I t-think you couldn’t handle it! Y-you’re very mature, y-you know? It’s just, y-you’re very small. What if another human tried to take you? O-or what if you got squished in the crowds?! I only worry, as your friend. Also, um, d-do you really think bringing h-him would be a good idea?”

You sigh lightly, nodding to her to concede that she has a point. Luckily, the answer to at least one of your fears comes to you immediately.

“I’ll bring Papyrus, he’d love to see a human concert. He’d probably love anything I wanted to do, to be honest. He won’t let anything happen to me, and he’s tall enough to make sure I don’t get run over or something, too. Besides,” you hesitate with a chuckle, “not that he’d care what happened to me, but at the very least I think I can trust Flowey to look out for his best interest. If I got run over, he would to.”

It’s pretty clear Alphys isn’t amused. “Papyrus is a good idea. But…I still don’t like the idea of F-Flowey around all those humans. What if he does something? N-no offense Frisk, but I’m not sure you could stop him if he was d-determined enough to cause havoc.”

“No, probably not,” you admit. You sigh lightly, taking a bite of your corndog before fixing her with what you hope is a serious look. “Alphys…would you believe me if I told you that I had a surefire way to make sure nothing went too wrong? Even if I didn’t tell you what it was?”

She doesn’t answer right away and you’re glad. You want her to seriously consider your words, because only then can she give you an honest answer. You fiddle uneasily with the corndog while you wait for her response. If she says no, your plan may not work out after all. You suppose you could appeal to Mettaton directly, but you’d rather not if it can be avoided. Firstly, he was far more likely to listen to Alphys than you. Secondly, you think being given opportunities to help her friends helps Alphys’s self-confidence. You would feel bad going around her, especially since it would likely make her feel like you weren’t taking her seriously.

But you want this. You feel, deep in your soul, that taking Flowey to a human concert will be good for him. That if you can help him connect to something he enjoys-in this case, human music-that maybe he will grow an attachment to the surface world.

“Yes, of c-course I trust you Frisk,” Alphys finally responds, “I’ll talk to Mettaton and see what he can do. I’m sure he can get some tickets for you. For…uhm, Frisk?” You look at her curiously, noting that she has suddenly gotten much more nervous, “m-may I, I mean, c-could I…w-would you consider t-taking me along, t-too?” she says the last in a rush, and you immediately give her a genuinely large smile.

“Of course, Alphys! I’d be glad to have you along.”

Her own smile makes your chest swell.

* * *

 

“Do you expect me to say ‘thank you?’ You should know better, you idiot.”

You make sure to look directly at Flowey before pointedly rolling your eyes. Of course you didn’t expect anything of the sort. You’d just wanted to let him know. You tell him as much, and he bristles all over again.

“What makes you think I want to go to some human concert? That’d I’d enjoy being around all of…those…humans…” He pauses, then grins unsettlingly at you, “Actually, that’s a great idea! Just think of all those souls!” You’re pleasantly surprised to notice that you don’t even get a single chill when he lets out an echoing cackle. You wait for it to fade, looking at him with slow blinks. His laugh trails off awkwardly as he catches your glance.

“As soon as it looks like you’re even _considering_ taking anyone’s soul, or hurting anyone at all, I’ll reload. Look, Flowey, I don’t expect you to say thank you. I don’t expect you to be grateful. In fact, this reaction is just what I expected. Despite it being your favorite thing to call me, I’m really not that much of an idiot. There’s only one request I have, and it’s for your sake, not mine. Please, please just give it a chance,” you don’t mean to smile at him, but you can’t help it. “Look, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to draw attention to it but…I know you at least find the music entertaining. You might like the concert! And if you don’t, if you really get that annoyed, just…let me know and we’ll leave. But please give it a chance?”

You’re not surprised when he doesn’t answer you, but you do let out an exasperate sigh. You pluck at the grass around your legs, waiting to see if he says anything, anything at all. You’re almost ready to give up and go inside when he finally does.

“I don’t get it!” the feelings, anger and confusion, are painfully obvious in his sudden outburst. “Because you’re right, and I don’t know why! I…I _enjoy_ listening to the music on the radio. At least, I think I do,” he pauses to glare at the ground as if it somehow responsible for his anguish, “at the very least it’s, I don’t know, entertaining? I don’t _feel_ anything from it,” he bares his fangs, the annoyance clearly growing into frustration, “when a ‘sad’ song comes on, I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel happy. I can’t, we both know that!” He shakes out his leaves. “But…but when I listen to any of the music, I just want to…I want to move. I guess it’s ‘dancing,” he practically spits the word as if it’s a curse, “and I hate myself for it! It’s not like I’ve never heard music before. There was music in the underground, and it didn’t do anything like this! Of course, that was mostly Mettaton’s swill…still, Frisk, _I just don’t understand!_ ”

It’s gone in a blink, but not fast enough for you to miss the way his face twists, just for a moment, into the remnants of Asriel. Your heart gives a painful beat. You know it doesn’t mean anything as fairy-tale-ending as the return of Asriel’s soul, but still. What you do know is that if Flowey has slipped enough to revert, briefly, into that face in a way that’s not mocking…well. You’ve seen this before. When you spared Flowey. In the echoes you have of him begging for his life. It is the time when Flowey comes so, so close to feeling true emotions. When the echoes of them are so strong that you doubt even he can tell the difference. It hurts you that it is anguish making him feel so strongly.

In truth, you think perhaps the music is echoing with a long-lost portion of the flower monster. That it comes so close to creating true emotion that it creates this horrible paradox in which, unconsciously, Flowey tries to feel but can’t. And because of that, this is not what you tell him. Because you meant what you told him what is starting to feel like forever ago (even if it’s only been a few weeks). You did not bring him to the surface to try and draw Asriel forward. You did not rescue him out of a misguided belief that you could bring his soul back. You did so because you wanted Flowey to experience what every other monster would get to experience. Because you didn’t feel right saving everyone but him. Because you hoped that you could eventually come to an understanding. That the surface world would offer Flowey enough to keep him entertained. If you tell him he is so confused right now because the world is trying to make him feel when he simply can’t, you’re not sure what he would do. But you are sure that it would be a major setback. So you tell him something else instead.

“You know, human kids, while they’re in school, they do these things called science fairs. They’re kind of dumb, but they’re supposed to make us interested in science and stuff. But, especially with the internet, a lot of times kids do the same experiments. Baking powder volcanoes. Potato lights. Stuff like that,” you begin.

“What does that have to do with _anything?!”_ He asks angrily. You ignore him and continue on.

“One thing that kids do a lot is grow flowers. They grow them while music plays, and they try out different types of music. To be honest, I don’t know much about what, if any, science is behind it,” you give him an apologetic smile, “but what I do know is they almost always find that flowers grow better with music. Usually, they grow the best with classical stuff, but then the flowers they use aren’t usually sentient. Anyway…it’s probably the same thing with you. Music is just good. It’s entertaining. I _know_ entertainment is something you can feel.”

He’s quiet for a bit, clearly thinking over everything you said. Finally, he nods his head slightly, then lifts it, the look on his face casual now.

“Right, obviously. It’s just entertainment, so there’s nothing wrong with liking it. And…alright, fine. I guess I’ll go to this stupid concert with you. Just don’t expect me to be all buddy-buddy with that overgrown lizard and idiotic skeleton!” He’s defensive.

You decide not to point out that he’s the one who was choosing to act buddy-buddy with Papyrus before. Best not to ruin the tentative mood. Instead you nod, giving him a smile. It’s clear from the way his face twists that he doesn’t appreciate it.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that chapter! 
> 
> To be honest, I do feel like it was one of the weaker ones of the story so far. But I feel like it was important, and is going to be a pinnacle chapter for bringing this story to a conclusion. There are going to be at least two more chapters for sure. There may or may not be more, depending on how the next chapter goes. Honestly, I'd like to get this almost finished before I head home for break. That being said, that's on Sunday...and between work and a paper I have to do for a class, I'm not sure it's a realistic goal. But if that's what happens, I'll just have to continue at home. I will have the time, don't worry. Updates may just be a bit slower. But we'll work over that hurdle when we get to it.
> 
> Also, over the next couple of weeks, keep your eyes peeled if you've the interest in any more from me! I'm thinking of releasing some sort of semi-AU holiday tale based on this story. Just something small and cutesy. 
> 
> Also, I think I've decided to wait to do anything with that companion piece until this one is finished. That being said, if you guys have anything specific you'd like to see, drop me a line! (pyroweasel.tumblr.com, or on here). And don't be shy, please. I won't ridicule anyone for their requests! I can't promise I'll do any request that comes through, but I'll certainly consider everything I see. Also, I apologize if this is presumptuous. I don't mean for this to come off as "well why wouldn't people want to see me write their requests??" I just, want to open the floor for the possibility if it exists. 
> 
> Anyways, I'll stop rambling (i'll leave the real ramble for the last chapter ;) ). Please let me know what you thought, and happy holidays!


	6. Concerts and Claustrophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which Flowey experiences his first human concert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I think this chapter is a little bit shorter than the others, but it gets its job done! 
> 
> Also, there is a scene below which deals heavily with an implied panic attack, or at least heavy anxiety reminiscent of one. Please read on carefully if that kind of thing can bother you, especially if you're sensitive to claustrophobia. 
> 
> Here we go!

You shift lightly, transferring the bulk of the weight of the flowerpot to your opposite arm. You silently send out a wish for the bouncers to start letting people into the venue. Waiting in line is not exactly your idea of a good time, and once you’re inside you’ll feel comfortable enough to pass Flowey off to someone for a while. Namely, Papyrus. Who, at the moment, was somewhere else along the line, no doubt talking the ear off of some poor, unsuspecting human. At least Alphys wandered off with him, after you agreed to save the spot in line. He couldn’t get into too much trouble with the scientist tailing him. You hoped.

You can’t be too annoyed at the situation, however. Not when Flowey is currently standing as tall on his stalk as possible, looking around at all of the concert goers with an apparent awe. You have no doubt he doesn’t realize what he looks like right now, because if he did he’d be back on level with you in a second. But it’s clear he’s fascinated, and that gives you hope for the rest of the night’s proceedings.

“There are so many humans here! It must be most of the population!” He says, finally lowering himself a bit to look at you. You chuckle lightly, and then a bit more at his affronted face.

“Sorry, it’s just that…this isn’t even a good chunk of the human population. I told you, the surface world is enormous.” You tell him. He blinks at you. You blink back. You’re reminded of your many ‘conversations’ with moldsmal. All of a sudden his face twists into a snarl. You’re not really taken aback. It’s been awhile since he’s caught you off guard with his mercurial mood swings.

“You mean to tell me, that there are all of these humans up here. So many humans! And they’re just…selfishly hoarding their souls? We could have been free forever ago with just a handful of their criminals or something! What a load of-“

“Flowey,” you interrupt, “most humans probably don’t even realize they have a soul. At least, not in the way that monsters know. And you have to remember that all of the humans alive now didn’t even know the underground was a thing until you all came up here. It’s not selfishness. Besides, you’re one to talk about hoarding souls, hum?”

“Yeah well,” he retorts, “I don’t have one, do I?” But that’s all he says on the subject, unwilling as usual to concede your point, but clearly recognizing that you had one. “At any rate,” he continues, “as fascinating as all of this human watching is…I thought we were here for music. What’s taking them so long?”

“We got here early,” you say with a shrug, “to get a good spot in line. I’m sure they’ll open up soon enough.” He huffs lightly, then goes back to people watching. You resist the urge to pat his head.

“HUMAN! I HAVE VERY GREAT NEWS!” Papyrus announces himself with, well, his voice, as he practically sprints back over to you. Alphys is a little ways behind, looking amused at his antics. Weren’t you all?

You look at Papyrus in curiosity and when he sees your look, he points excitedly towards the front of the line. “THE HUMANS UP THERE SAID THAT THEY WILL BE OPENING THE DOOR VERY SOON! SO WE WILL GO IN, VERY SOON! ALSO, SOME FEMALE HUMANS GAVE ME PIECES OF PAPER WITH NUMBERS ON THEM! I AM…QUITE CONFUSED, ACTUALLY.”

You giggle into a hand while Papyrus stares at you, clearly waiting for you to shed some light on this strange human custom.

“They’re phone numbers, Pap.”

“THAT MAKES PERFECT SENSE! SO I CAN CALL THEM ON THEIR CELLPHONES! I THOUGHT ONLY FRIENDS DO THAT, BUT PERHAPS IT IS DIFFERENT IN THE HUMAN WORLD! THEY WANT ME TO CALL THEM, SO THAT _THEN_ WE CAN BE FRIENDS!”

“Something like that,” you tell him with a smile, “except,” you beckon him down to your level, and whisper into his ear (well, area), “they want to go on a date with you.” You almost can’t breathe for laughing when Papyrus shoots back up straight, looking amazed. He quickly shakes it off.

“OF COURSE! WHO WOULD NOT WANT TO DATE THE GREAT PAPYRUS? EXCEPT, I DO NOT THINK I HAVE FEELINGS FOR THEM! OH NO…I DON’T WANT TO BREAK ANOTHER HUMAN’S HEART!” He looks as genuinely sad as Papyrus can look, and you reach up to pat his arm lightly.

“I wouldn’t worry too much, Pap. Why don’t you tell Sans about it when we get back, I’m sure he’ll have great advice for you,” that was probably unfair. But you really didn’t want to get into the whole idea of human sexuality with Papyrus. Especially considering you only somewhat understood it yourself. Of course, Sans probably didn’t understand much either, but you had a feeling he’d at least be able to work it out.

“GREAT IDEA, HUMAN! I WILL DO THAT. NOW HERE WE GO, IT LOOKS LIKE WE CAN FINALLY GO INTO THE BUILDING!”

“Please, as if anyone would want to go on a date with that loud bonehead,” Flowey murmurs close to your ear, looking quite put out with the whole series of events. You shoot him your best glare, to which he responds with a shrug and a raised eyebrow, “what? Papyrus didn’t hear me.” You roll your eyes and let the topic drop. After all, that he would even bother making sure Papyrus didn’t hear him _did_ speak volumes.

* * *

 

The rest of the evening proceeds apace. Truth be told, you’re not all that into the music that’s playing, but the party-like atmosphere sinks into your bones and makes you dance just as hard as the others. You don’t speak to Flowey, mostly because he seems to be lost in his own little world and you don’t think you’d ever even imagine him having such a good time. At first, a lot of people had been weirded out by the dancing flower (having been introduced to the skeleton and lizard beforehand), but that had quickly passed. At first, Flowey himself had seemed reluctant to start dancing, but that, too, had passed. You and Papyrus traded off the flowerpot on occasion, and whenever you were holding him you had to hold on extra tight, so that Flowey didn’t dance his way out of your hands. That would definitely put an end to the fun.

In truth, you try and forget and dance as well because there’s a small bit of claustrophobia lurking in the back of your mind. It has been a long, long time since you were in a crowd of this size, with so many moving, heated bodies. You try with all of your determination to ignore that feeling, though, and concentrate on having a good time with your friends. Being able to stick close to Papyrus, whose appearance and height helps to clear some room, helps a lot.

Unfortunately, as is the way with these things, it couldn’t be kept up forever. It happens so quickly and smoothly that at first you don’t even notice the distance growing between you and your friends. A song is playing that you find you really are enjoying, and you’re so caught up in trying to dance in time to your oblivious flower friend that it isn’t until the song stops and changes that you realize you can’t see Papyrus or Alphys anywhere.

It is as if a flip has been switched and the mild claustrophobia surges ahead to become full-fledged. You are suddenly acutely aware of how close and crowded all of the bodies, so much taller than you, are. Your grip on Flowey’s pot grows clammy and the music is suddenly hard to hear through the rhythmic pounding in your ears. Someone slips past you and you shoot away from the sudden contact, only to stumble into someone else who pushes you away from them with an annoyed huff and all at once you’re losing your footing and suddenly everything is much taller because you’re on the ground with Flowey’s pot still somehow clenched in your hands and still upright, thank god.

There are feet and legs all around you, still moving in time to the new song, and no one seems to know you’re there. You’re gulping in large, painful breaths as tears prick your eyes and you know, just know, that Alphys’s prediction is going to come true and you’re going to be stepped on or maybe even trampled and you need to move but you just _can’t._ It’s like your body isn’t listening and you’re pinned to the floor by the heaviness in your stomach and heart and won’t someone please just pick you up and get you out of here because you’re _petrified._

You still as you feel something wrapped tightly around your arms, almost like thick pieces of string tied there. There’s gold in your face and you realize with a start that you’re seeing petals. Flowey petals, and the string around your arms are his vines, trying in vain to lift you from the ground. His face is twisted into a grimace from the effort and his mouth is open and as you realize he’s talking to you, suddenly his voice is flooding into your ears as if it’d been blocked off before.

“Come on, you idiot! What is wrong with you? You’re going to get us both trampled if you keep this up! Get up, Frisk, come on, _get up!_ ”

The reminder that you’re not the only one currently in danger fills you with much needed strength and you all but _surge_ to your feet, and you don’t mean to cling the flowerpot so close to your body but you can’t help it because you’re up now but the beating won’t stop and your face is covered in sweat. There’s muffled noise from your chest until Flowey pulls his head back, having been pressed against you in your desperate clinging of his pot.

“What the hell was all of that about? Are you trying to get us killed? Couldn’t just let me have one enjoyment, could you? You just had to…mess it…” he trails off, his eyes narrowing as he stares at you. All at once he snorts, and starts jiggling back and forth in his pot. The movement focuses your eyes, and finally another emotion--surprise--starts to push away some of the fear still pounding through your veins. Flowey’s movements aren’t random. Rather, you see that he has managed to free a few of his roots, and then all of them, and suddenly he’s climbing from his pot and onto your arm, vines and roots twisting around your limb and torso as he does. In only a few seconds his face and petals are resting to the side of your own head, and he is clearly secure in his grip along your body.

“Leave that thing here,” he tells you, gesturing with a leaf at the pot. You don’t respond, but you do as he says, simply letting the pot fall. It crashes to the ground and, before long, is swept up in legs and feet, dirt scattering all over the floor. The other concert dwellers don’t seem to even notice it. You’re reminded that that could have been you. Your heartbeat speeds up again.

“Frisk!” You turn your head to the side, eyes moving even further, to try and look at Flowey. It’s difficult in his position, but you see enough to see him looking at you. “Pay attention to me, would you? I’ll find your idiot friends and tell you where to go, alright? What a pain,” the last bit is muttered as he somehow manages to climb higher, until his head is swaying a few inches above yours. You lift your hand not covered in Flowey-vines and wipe at your eyes.

Flowey guides you around the dance floor. Somehow, people don’t seem nearly as close as before, and you wonder if it has anything to do with the random, angry hisses the flower lets out. The process begins to calm you, something soothing about the specific directions and the way Flowey’s vines and roots are clinging to you. Before long, you hear something that makes almost all of the fear finally drop away.

“THERE YOU ARE, HUMAN! YOU HAD ME VERY CONCERNED!” Papyrus’s voice seems to fluctuate as fleshless arms suddenly surround you and lift you up. Before you even know what is happening, you’re sitting on the tall skeleton’s shoulders, arms resting on his skull. “I THINK, PERHAPS, THIS IS MUCH SAFER! PLEASE DO NOT GET LOST AGAIN!” You nod, then realize he wouldn’t see it, so instead you burrow your face against the hardness of his skull. Your message must have gotten across, because he doesn’t say anything else about it. You’re content to stay there, boney shoulders and all, for the rest of the concert. Somehow, you simply can’t enjoy it anymore.

Papyrus and Alphys bring you back home later that night, Papyrus chattering excitedly about how much he enjoyed the concert. He somehow manages to carry on this conversation mostly with Flowey, who is as stoic as can be expected, but it’s still pretty obvious that he mostly had a good time. You wave a quiet goodbye to your two friends, glancing over Alphys’s concerned look, and shut the door. With a greeting, careful hug for Toriel, you head further into the house and to the backyard.

You’re both quiet as Flowey untangles himself from you and you help transplant him back into the ground. Not quite ready to leave, you sit on the ground in front of him once the job is done and play a bit with the grass beneath your fingers. After a few minutes you take a breath and look up, meeting Flowey’s curious and weary gaze.

“Flowey?” you begin.

“What?” he snaps back, clearly defensive. Somehow, this puts you more at ease and you give him a slight smile.

“Thank you,” you tell him simply. He’s quiet for a moment before he shifts his leaves, it reminds you of the way someone might brush at their clothes when they’re nervous.

“Yeah, well, I guess the day you brought me up from the underground was the luckiest day of your life. I don’t know what you would do without me,” his tone is haughty by the end of his sentence, and you recognize that it’s his way of trying to return to normality. You think perhaps you’ve both finally gotten past that, but you don’t say as much. This is not something you can push. Instead, you climb your feet, giving the area one last look over.

“I don’t know either,” you tell him, “but I’m glad you’re here.”

Not a single vine or pellet assaults you on the way back to your room. You fall asleep filled with joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I hoped you enjoyed it. The next chapter should be around in a few days, and may very well be the last for this story. 
> 
> Fear not, however, I've already got some ideas aligned for the companion piece, which will include behind-the-scenes scenes from this story, as well as AUs based around it. So that will be the next project.
> 
> Additionally, I will be opening a Floweypot ask/rp blog on tumblr. It will be a side-blog to my main, and the link will be posted on my main when it is up and running. So keep on eye on pyroweasel.tumblr.com for more news! 
> 
> As always, let me know what you thought. I hope you are all having a good holiday! 
> 
> End_Transmission


	7. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk gets Flowey a present, and the monster finally starts to settle in.
> 
> AKA: Flowey the DJ: The Final Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! If you're here reading this, then thank you so much for sticking with me. I really do apologize, especially since I went back on my word. I said I would be able to write up a chapter during break, but unfortunately I wasn't able to do so. To make a really, really long story short: My grandma was in and out of the hospital the entire time I was home. She was mostly in, and due to anxiety, had to have someone with her all the time. So most of my time was split up taking care of my grandpa and driving him around/to the hospital/etc. So, while I had time to use my phone and go on tumblr and such, I really didn't have the time to sit down at my computer and write. 
> 
> So I apologize again for the wait! Especially considering this is the last chapter. More on that in the end notes!

Days pass much more smoothly than they had in the beginning. Flowey has been, to put it bluntly, rather well behaved. There was a small altercation between him and Sans but, well, that was to be expected. Frankly, you’re surprised that hadn’t happened sooner. For the first time, you were forced to reload to save _Flowey_. You can’t help but notice he avoids Sans even more than before after that. You also notice that you receive no gratitude, not that you really expected it.

However, you worry when Flowey starts getting bored. Considering his forays with the timelines before, you suppose that’s not that surprising. The fact that you keep him close to home and haven’t had much time to take him exploring probably doesn’t help. You make a mental note to do that more.

All that being said, there is one thing he hasn’t grown bored of. When he’s not inside bothering you, or when you’re not outside bothering him, he always has the radio with him. His enjoyment with the music hasn’t faded, although you’ve noticed his tastes become a little more diverse as time goes on. You suppose that might be a bit of boredom in its own way, but thankfully there is plenty of music for him to explore. With that in mind, you begin to form a plan.

It takes a few days to bring to fruition. Mostly because you have to talk Toriel into it, and that takes some time because of her distrust of Flowey and a clear uncertainty about spending the money you’ve suggested. But in the end she agrees and you put your plan into motion. Within a week, you come to Flowey with a present. When you first set it down in front of him, you can tell he’s not at all impressed. Not that it comes as much of a surprise, of course.

“A computer?” he asks with a sneer at the laptop, “what on earth am I supposed to do with a computer? Smash my head against it?” He thinks he’s funny, of course. But you answer with a direct gaze at the slightly piled dirt near the base of his stem.

“It will probably take a little getting used to, but seeing how well you use your roots and vines for other things, I think you can use them for a computer. And I got you a mouse,” you gesture at the device in question, “because you probably have a point about trying to use them with a trackpad.”

“Okay, fine,” he acquiesces, “I probably can use it. But why on earth would I want to? Do I look like that overgrown lizard to you?” You glare at him for the slight against Alphys. He stares blankly back. This is a fight you’ve had all too often. You suppose you should get used to the insults. They are, after all, a better alternative to flat out killing people.

“I put a special program on it. Here, look,” you lean over the screen of the laptop to control it, opening up the program in question. The program is designed for mixing and creating music, both original and remixes. In truth, you really don’t know a lot about it. You just knew that such programs existed and that Flowey could get some use out of one. Beyond that, you’d let a few of your monster friends help with the specifics.

You’d tried to get Mettaton’s help and, true to himself, he’d tried to give it. But you’d both found out that being an entertainer and a machine didn’t give him much of an edge when it came to specific software. It had been Napstablook who’d come to the rescue. That actually hadn’t been all that surprising, and you’d about kicked yourself for not thinking of it sooner. Although his expertise had been more with monster software, he had learned enough about the human ones to help you out. Because of that, you knew you had a pretty good program for Flowey.

“What _is_ it?” Flowey was asking you, his voice jolting you from your musings.

“Right, it’s for creating music! You can use it to make your own, or you can use it to take others’ music and remix it for yourself. I thought, well, that it would keep you busy and entertained. That it’d be enjoyable for you. And, I dunno, maybe you can even make a career out of it.” You’re bolstered by the expressions on his face as you talk. They are not appreciation, not necessarily joy. If you had a put a name to them, you guess you would choose ‘astonishment.’ Anticipatory astonishment, in a good way. When he finally meets your eyes, his expression seems to have fixed into one of awe.

“That’s…” he trails off, clearing his throat. It’s an almost emotional moment for the soulless flower. Any uncertainty you had about your choice has vanished. “It sounds very useful,” he finally continues, “seems like something it would take a long time for me to get bored of. Hehe,” he chuckles, the sound oddly not quite right, “and very clever on your part. You think giving me something to entertain me will stop me from throwing a real fit and, say, killing everyone you love?”

You look at him, unamused even as he seems to wait for a laugh. For just a brief second his petals seem to fall back, but then they’re perked again and he’s looking at the computer with a renewed interest.

“Well, maybe it will. After all, if I killed everyone, who would ever listen to my music? I do hope you know that you’ll have to listen to every single piece, no matter how miserable it may be! You’ll be like…my editor,” he says with a grin. This time, you return it with a smile of your own.

“Fine with me. Although you might want to consider Blooky for that, too. This is what he does, you know.”

You nearly double over with laughter at the sudden, disgusted twist on Flowey’s face.

“That soppy ghost? No thank you. You’ll do just fine. Besides, I guess that makes him my competition. You can’t crush your competition if they know what you’re bringing to the table,” he rubs his leaves together almost maniacally. You roll your eyes and ponder on how he can sometimes be truly frightening while being practically comical otherwise. You decide not to say as much, he probably wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Suit yourself,” you tell him with a shrug, “but he really would be the best one to teach you how to use this program and stuff. He’s really good at it.” Flowey looks at you with unamused, narrowed eyes.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be my editor if you consider that trash good. Have you ever heard Ghouliday? I don’t have real ears, but if I did, that ‘song’ would make them bleed. His other stuff isn’t much better,” he says.

“Be nice to Blook,” you mutter almost to yourself, knowing the words won’t actually affect Flowey at all. In truth, you want to tell him about how well the ghost is doing, being part of Mettaton’s crew. But the argument really isn’t worth it, it’s not one you can win and all it will do is frustrate you. So you drop the subject.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” you tell Flowey, standing up and dusting off your pants, “that thing will run out of power eventually, so call me when it starts to,” saying as much, you frown lightly. That might be a problem, but you’ll just have to find a fix for it in the future. Or Flowey will just have to deal with having a limited time to work on it at any given time. You push it to the back of your mind and decide not to worry about it.

Flowey is already deep into learning, and ignores your goodbye.

* * *

 

As time continues to pass, the decision continues to prove to be a great one. Flowey is, for lack of better words, enthralled with his new toy. From the first time you went out to get the computer to charge it, you’ve been practically bombarded with Flowey’s music. In truth, at first it wasn’t very good. Although you don’t dare say as much to Flowey, you find yourself thinking that you’d almost prefer to listen to Ghouliday. All you can manage at the time is a shaky smile and a brief word of encouragement. To your relief, Flowey doesn’t seem at all bothered by your lackluster response. He simply shrugs and, once he has the computer back, moves on.

He improves quickly and he’s not the only thing to do so. A curled up tension in your gut you didn’t even realize was there slowly unfolds as time passes. That tension, you come to recognize, was the constant fear of turning a corner to find someone dusted. Up until this point, even in periods where Flowey was tamer than usual, it was a constant dread. However, there hasn’t been a single incident since you gave him the laptop. Despite your better judgement, the tension eases. You start thinking that everything is actually going to be okay.

For once, it truly seems to be. After the first time your reaction to his music is genuine, he begins to share it around. First with Papyrus, who is thrilled even if he’s not exactly the best critic. He falls in love with Flowey’s music and the only time he ever insults it is when he does so indirectly, by praising Flowey’s talent as close to Blook’s. You laugh at Flowey’s expression then, because it’s clear the flower is insulted, even as he knows that Papyrus doesn’t mean to _be_ insulting. He thanks Papyrus with clenched teeth, and you have to leave the room before you pee yourself with laughter.

Toriel is the next to be gifted a chance to hear Flowey’s music. You can tell that she’s pleasantly surprised, and so are you when Flowey seems almost shyly glad of her praise. It’s a very quick moment, but all at once you know with almost certainty that Flowey will never harm Toriel again. For all his blustering and hatred and everything else, it seems that Flowey has developed a real respect for the boss monster. You wonder, briefly, if it is in some way a reflection of Asriel. Then, you dismiss that notion. You find it disrespectful to Flowey to assume that any good blossoming within him is only due to the ‘good’ part of his past. You decide to instead hope that he has really begun to change.

Your hope wobbles a bit when Flowey’s interaction with Sans is not nearly as cordial. Sans hears the music by accident when he’s over one day, he certainly wasn’t on Flowey’s list. True to himself, the smaller skeleton playfully badgers Flowey about it. True to himself, Flowey returns it with true badgering and even bullying. When it begins to turn into anger, you decide it’s time to separate them before it comes to blows. Likely, the bad blood between them will never die completely. Flowey will never like or trust Sans and you decide then and there to never try and force their relationship.

Slowly but surely, most of the rest of your friends start listening to Flowey’s music. A few by accident, such as Mettaton and even Blook, but before long everyone knows about Flowey’s passion. Flowey has not yet brought his creations to the public light. You’re not sure if he ever will, or if he will keep it as his own, personal enjoyment. Either way, as long as he’s happy, you’re happy.

* * *

 

You’re lying on your stomach on the grass, feet kicked up behind you as you watch Flowey work. It’s something he’s allowed only recently, and only as long as you’re absolutely silent. You don’t mind that, it’s not as if you particularly enjoy talking anyway.

It’s pretty cool to watch him work. Gone are the awkward wiggles and yanks of his vines that punctuated his first days learning. He uses them almost as well as real hands and fingers now, and he’s already a much better typist than you. Plus, he really does have an odd sort of talent for tossing music together. He seems to prefer that over remixing, but that hardly seems like a bad thing.

The music he creates the most often could be played in clubs. You wouldn’t call his style upbeat, especially since most of his music contains flat, off-note keys that give it a sort of animalistic vibe. But it is certainly meant for moving, which you suppose doesn’t surprise you, since he seems to enjoy his own version of dancing. This is the music he shares, the stuff that everyone seems to enjoy.

But there are private songs that no one but you has heard. And you suppose there must be songs that he hasn’t shared even with you. But the ones he has shared are of a different caliber all together. They are slower, deeper songs that usually make you think of the underground. There’s one that reminds you of the sorrow in Asriel’s eyes when he’d realized all he had done and the fate that awaited him. There’s one that is especially dark, even a bit violent if you could call music that, that you know without a doubt, without even asking, is a tribute to Chara.

When he wants to share it, you listen to this music without comment. You two share a moment that goes so deeply into your core that you don’t need words to express it. They are quiet, reflective moments.

With those moments in mind, you’ve found yourself truly enjoying Flowey’s company as of late. There are things you can talk about with him and no one else, and it feels rather good to finally get some of that stuff off your chest. He talks in return, of course. Sure, he is still often biting, cruel, and mean without regret. He hasn’t killed anyone in a rather long time now, but he still threatens it often. There have even been times when he has snapped, in a way, and hurt you, much like he did when you first brought him to the surface. You think privately that many of these things will never change. How could they, when he is soulless and without positive emotions?

However, things are better. There are times when he shares those conversations with you, or when he sits in quiet contemplation with you. There are times when he tells you he enjoyed spending time with Papyrus, or times when you find him quietly enjoying Toriel’s company. Little things, small improvements, signs that he is adjusting to life on the surface world and is truly ready to move forward. Things will never be perfect, but they are so much better.

“Frisk?” he asks rather suddenly. You push yourself up into a sitting position and scoot a bit closer to him, looking at him curiously. He turns away from the computer and looks at you in turn, and you see a rare seriousness on his face. You think, perhaps, it is punctuated with a sort of apprehensive fear. That puts you on edge.

“Look, it’s just,” he pauses, wiggling a bit on his stem, “it’s not so bad up here. Not as bad as I thought it would be, from what I remember of Asriel, from what Chara always said. When you came down there to get me, I really just wanted to torment you. But, I guess a part of me was also afraid of coming to the surface. Of somehow suffering up here. And I guess there hasn’t been nearly as much suffering as I expected. I guess, what I want to say is,” and he stops.

He can’t get the words out. You know the ones he’s thinking, the words right behind his eyes. But he doesn’t say them. You don’t have to guess why. In truth, he probably is uncertain he’d even mean them. You’re not sure he would, either.

“All I’m saying is it wasn’t the _dumbest_ decision you’ve ever made, to come get me,” he finally finishes, his face twisting a bit, as if in challenge. You smile lightly, the words so very Flowey. A backhanded compliment. You choose not to address them. Instead, you respond to the words left unsaid.

“Flowey? You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! If it comes as a surprise to you that this is the last chapter, I apologize. I do hope it wasn't too sudden, I tried to make the transition smooth and work as an ending.
> 
> I'm leaving it here for a couple of reasons: 
> 
> 1) The slow-burn scope of this story is as such that a true ending, say with Flowey all at once realizing that he can feel emotions or something, is impossible.   
> 2) I never intended to go that far in the first place. What I wanted to do was get him to the point that he wasn't constantly killing people, and I think I achieved that.   
> 3) That burst of motivation and joy I had when I first started writing this has stuttered out. I will not leave you guys with an unfinished story, but I'm afraid if I keep writing just to push the story on, then you guys will be subjected to bland chapters. Or worse, a sudden stop later on. That's not fair to you guys. Around 5-7 chapters was where I was originally aiming to end, so I feel like now is a good time. 
> 
> That being said, for when I do have spurts of wanting to write, I do still plan on working on that AU. I just ask that you don't wait for it with bated breath, because it could be a bit of time before you see anything from it. But you will probably see something on it, for sure.
> 
> Thank you guys for everything, for the reviews, for anyone who followed me on tumblr, for the messages checking in on me. I really do hope you enjoyed the story, enjoyed the end, and just had a good time with it. 
> 
> Thanks again.
> 
> End_Transmission


End file.
